Diary of the Fallen
by Ghost Wulf
Summary: Amidst the turmoil of a war, can one tormented boy find solace hidden in the pages of a secret diary? Well, if Draco Malfoy wants to retain his sanity, he has to try something. Draco's POV-told in the form of an actual diary.
1. Page I

**....Diary of the Fallen....**

**Page I**

. . . . How are you supposed to start a diary entry anyway? It's ridiculous. Diaries are for giggly girls who cover pages with doodles of their name with some guy's surrounded by lopsided hearts.

Mother says it's supposed to help you keep your thoughts organized and let out your emotions. Stupid. I don't need something like this. I don't even get why she gave it to me. There are a million other things she could have given me as a "going to Hogwarts" gift. . . . A poisonous snake would have been useful. Maybe then Potter wouldn't still be a nuisance.

I didn't even think about how old this thing is. It's been buried in my school trunk for years. I don't even know why I'm digging it out now. I don't need to write in this thing. I should have burned it when I first got it.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Welcome, all, to Draco Malfoy's diary. This story idea first hit me when I went to see HP 6 in theaters and I just recently rediscovered it. Just to warn you now, I will take a few liberties with the story, but don't worry because it's nothing too big. I'll have ANs with each chapter to explain anything I tweaked. Thanks for reading--I hope you enjoy the story!_

**_Next Update: 3/27/10_**


	2. Page II

_AN: Stupid FFN format doesn't support strike-through, so I had to use underline instead. When you come to the part that's underlined, it means Draco scribbled it out after he wrote it._

**Page II**

Fine. Sick of this bloody thing sitting in my trunk taunting me. I'll burn it when I'm done anyway.

What am I supposed to do, write my life in this? Am I _that_ pathetically bored?

. . . .

How can blank pages taunt? Fine. I'll fill it with nonsense junk from my life. My own choice of course. Only doing this because there's nothing better to do.

Draco Malfoy. My name, if you couldn't guess from it being engraved on the bloody cover.

. . . .

June 5. That's my birthday.

. . . .

I'm sixteen.

. . . .

Hogwarts. Slytherin.

. . . .

I'm a Death Eater. That interesting? Stupid bunch of parchment. Yeah. The Dark Lord gave his mark to me. _And_ he entrusted me with a special mission. Out of all other people, _I'm_ the one he chose to do it.

Father was one first of course. He was the Dark Lord's most faithful and trusted servant both before and after his fall.

. . . .

He was arrested. But it wasn't his fault—it was those fools he was with! I'm sure of it! And Dumbledore was there. The Dark Lord himself avoids Dumbledore; how could my father. . . . How could anyone. . . .

When I finish the mission the Dark Lord gave me, I'll redeem the Malfoy name. I have his trust and I'll keep it. I'll show everyone.

* * *

_Authoress's (Second) Note: I know some of this would probably only be his thoughts instead of actually being written down, but I'm taking artistic license so you can get into his head more. And this is early because I probably won't be at a computer tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed!_

**_Next Update: 4/3/10_**


	3. Page III

**Page III**

Alright bloody diary, want to hear a story? Let me tell you about Saint Potter. The Chosen One. That scum and his Mudblood and Weasel friends made an appearance today when Mother and I were in Diagon Alley. Potter. He just has to strut how much he thinks he's the greatest thing known to man. A million galleons says that a good look at the mark on my left arm would wipe that haughty expression off his face right away. Temptation is sweet. . . .

But it doesn't matter. We'll see how high-and-mighty he feels this year when his big protection suddenly disappears. Because I won't fail.

Someone else had the great chance to be cowed by the Dark Lord's mark today. Before we came home, I completed the first step in my plan. Professor Snape has told me all about the Room of Requirement hidden in that school, and what it contains. All I had to do was give Borgin a glimpse of my mark and the second key became mine. That werewolf Fenrir can act as watchdog and make sure that's how it stays.

. . . .

I hope I get to see the look on Potter's face when I finish my mission. I hope he's there to see the end. I want to see him tremble when he realizes just how pitiful he is when faced with a real Chosen One.

A Chosen One of the Dark Lord.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Happy Late Easter, everyone. Hope you enjoyed!_

_**Next Update: 4/11/10**_


	4. Page IV

**Page IV**

Potter covered in blood sure is a satisfying sight. Even more so is knowing that I'm the one who made him bleed.

On the train to Hogwarts today, Potter decided to do a little snooping and eavesdropped on me. He hid under his little invisibility cloak like a coward—but he wasn't good enough. Have to say, hearing his nose break under my foot was like music.

Unfortunately, the rest of my intentions didn't quite play out. I meant for no one to discover his body until the train stopped in London again. It should have worked; I don't know how he slithered out. I won't object to the spectacle he made walking into the Great Hall with a smashed face, though.

. . . .

In the compartment, I mentioned that the Dark Lord might need me for a mission. Blaise just brushed it off. He doesn't understand. The fool. I'll see him bow when the Dark Lord praises me for my work. At least the others showed me some of the awe I should always receive.

I'll have it someday. Soon.

. . . .

Tomorrow, I'll find the Room of Requirement.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Alright, here we're introducing the biggest change I think I made. I'm handling the Room of Requirement differently from the books or movie in that Draco only has to repair it by the final move (letting the Death Eaters into the school). He already has the necklace, poison, etc. How this works? Let's say Snape weasels him by security; it isn't important. Alright, hope you enjoyed this and will enjoy the next chapter as well! (As a warning though, I think the next chapter is the shortest of the story. Just a heads up.)_

**_Next Update: 4/17/10_**


	5. Page V

**Page V**

Saint Potter! The favorite of all the teachers! When Professor Snape taught potions, those of us who deserved it got the recognition, and Potter got a nice ego check. But with Slughorn? Of course not! He's teacher's pet once again! Slughorn says no one's ever been good enough before, and of course Potter becomes the first. Of course prissy, perfect Potter is first in everything.

Doesn't matter. I don't need a bloody luck potion. I'll succeed on my own. I'll show them. I'll show everyone.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Malfoy's deluding himself here into thinking Slughorn said no one had ever won the potion before when, really, it was just that it hadn't happened often. Um, since this one's so short and the next one's even shorter (believe it or not) I've decided to post them both today. Sorry! I promise they get longer from here out!_

**_Next Update: In about five minutes. :D_**


	6. Page VI

**Page VI**

It isn't bloody working! That cabinet in the Room of Requirement. It's broken and I spent hours on it but I still can't get anything through the passageway intact! The apples had chunks missing and the books had covers torn off. Any random object gets destroyed. Nothing works. What if the blasted thing never works? What if I can't fix it? It's the only way for me to bring the others. If it doesn't work then I'll . . . have to face Dumbledore alo

* * *

_Authoress's Note: As promised. Don't forget underlined means scribbled out. Apologies for shortness!_

**_Next Update: 4/25/10_**


	7. Page VII

**Page VII**

The Room of Requirement still isn't working. I had to do something. . . . I had to do something.

So what if I got some stupid student involved?! I don't even know that Bell girl, but she's in Gryffindor—and she supports Potter! There's nothing wrong with using her if it means the Dark Lord's plan will succeed. If it means I can prove myself. She won't even get hurt; she's just a means of delivery. She should be proud she has the chance to help.

. . . .

Potter was at the Three Broomsticks. He saw me just as I was leaving. I should have done a better job on his face the first time I smashed it—he can still glare. It's a shame I couldn't try again with a crowd present.

But he can glare all he wants. Things are already in motion; he can't stop them. Word should come in just an hour or two. In just an hour, everyone will know who's really in power. Potter will know there's someone better than him. He'll regret the past six years of his life, all the way back to that first time we met. He'll wish he'd groveled at my feet and begged to serve me.

Just one more hour.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Hope you enjoyed!_

**_Next Update: 5/2/10_**


	8. Page VIII

**Page VIII**

. . . . It shouldn't have happened. The stupid package was for Dumbledore, not that girl. She should have known better than to open it! The spell I cast was perfect; I don't know how she. . . . She should have known better! It's her own bloody fault!

. . . .

I don't know what to try next. The Room of Requirement still isn't working—I've tried everything. I just keep hoping, maybe. . . . Maybe something will change. . . .

I found this place just this year. I don't even know which tower I'm in, but it's got a secluded, open balcony no one goes to. It's an escape from that crowded common room, filled with the fools who don't understand anything. This whole place was filthy when I first came here—everything covered in dust. Instead of dust, now it's full of drifted snow, but that doesn't matter. I like the cold. I like the silence.

. . . .

The mark on my arm doesn't hurt as much in the cold.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: So sorry this is late! As an apology gift, I'll post the next chapter today too._

**_Next Update: About 5 minutes_**


	9. Page IX

**Page IX**

That filthy squib cornered me tonight after I left the Room of Requirement. Doesn't matter though—he doesn't know what I was doing. What matters is the cabinet is working. I sent an apple through and it came back with just a bite missing, not the ragged chunks like before. Fenrir received it. It's working.

. . . .

I thought I would feel different when I finally got it working. _If_ I got it working. I thought I would feel triumphant, elated, excited, proud . . . something. But I just feel empty. Hollow—like the vanishing cabinet sent my insides to Fenrir instead of an apple. I have all the pieces now, everything I need to finish my mission. All I have to do is choose a date. They're all under orders to listen to me—all the Death Eaters the Dark Lord selected to conquer Hogwarts. All I have to do is complete the last part of my mission and lead them in. I'll be celebrated. The Dark Lord will be pleased. He'll see how valuable I am, how valuable the Malfoys are.

But I'm afraid. I hate that I am, but I know it's true. I sit in the great hall and look up at the teacher's table and Dumbledore smiles at me everyday and raises his cup in a silent toast, as if we're sharing a private joke I should know. And I have to look away. When I think about an abstract concept—kill the Dark Lord's greatest enemy and prove your worth—things seem easy. I can feel that pride and excitement and everything else. But when I look up at that table and see that smile and can almost see the words "Dark Lord's Greatest Enemy" hovering in the air between us, I can't help the fear. I'm afraid of the look that would replace that smile if I erased the words between us with a wand and a killing curse. I'm afraid of the person I would become if I could do it.

Snape called me on it tonight. He said he could tell I was afraid, and that I was trying to hide it. He demanded I let him help—said he swore to protect me. I don't want his bloody protection or his offer or his judgment or his pity. I told him off, said that this is my moment, my mission. But for the first time, the words hurt. I could almost see them materialize as I spoke and turn into a rope that snaked around my neck. A collar. A noose. A bloody unbreakable vow of my own. Because I know what happens if I can't do it. If I fail.

It's him or me.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Getting close to the end--three pages left. Please review!_

**_Next Update: 5/16/10 (The day after my birthday!)_**


	10. Page X

**Page X**

. . . . I know it was cowardly. I know I should just face him myself. I know time's running out, the school year is ending. But I still can't decide. I can't decide on anything.

Being an only child leaves a lot of thinking time at home. When I was young, I used to sneak away from the house and spend hours outside, acting out how things would be when I grew up. I never had a name to pin on what I wanted to do, but I knew all the important details. I knew people would be amazed by me, be in awe. I knew they'd pay attention and know how important I was just by hearing my name. I knew I'd have followers . . . and friends. I knew I would have power. I knew I would change the world.

I didn't imagine being ignored. I didn't think anything of the name Harry Potter—didn't think that anything I ever did would be meaningless simply because I was in the same year as the _amazing_ "Chosen One." I didn't imagine not having a single person I could really call a friend. I didn't imagine a war—_couldn't_ imagine being pulled under and drowned by one. . . . I didn't imagine being a sixteen-year-old murderer.

I don't want any part in this war. I never asked for it. I never asked for any of it.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: This is when Draco poisons Slughorn's mead (what he's talking about in the first little bit—about being cowardly). It doesn't really matter if this is before or after Ron drinks it because, obviously, Draco's mind moved on to other topics. Hope you enjoyed!_

**_Next Update: 5/23/10 _**


	11. Page XI

**Page XI**

It's time. I can't delay any more. Potter already figured out I cursed Bell; I can't let him figure out any more. He already cursed me once; I won't give him a second chance. I won't lose. I won't feel defeat again.

. . . . I've never felt as close to death as I did today when his spell hit me—I've never felt that much pain. I've never hated anyone as much. I'd give anything if it was him I had to kill instead of Dumbledore. It isn't hard to see Potter as an enemy. He's in Gryffindor. I'm in Slytherin. He's a filthy half-blood. I'm from a pure line. He's Dumbledore's Chosen One. I'm the Dark Lord's. . . . He has friends. Everyone loves him. He's the hero everyone wants. I'm not. . . .

It's like we're opposite sides of a galleon. But the thing is, when the test comes and the galleon gets flipped, only one of us can come out on top. And then nothing else will matter.

Heads or tails, Potter?

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Sorry this is a day late; it's been a busy weekend. Well, this diary is coming to an end-only one page left. The last page is my favorite, so I hope you'll like it too._

**_Final Update: 5/30/10_**


	12. Page XII

**Page XII**

. . . .

. . . .

There's so much to say but it feels like there's no way to say it. . . . Nothing I say can explain everything that's happened. Nothing I say can change it or fix it. No apologies or spells I can offer. No way to reverse time. I didn't want any of it to happen.

But that doesn't change anything either.

. . . .

Part of me hoped the Death Eaters would be killed while travelling through the passage. I hoped all the work I'd put into fixing the cabinet here would undo itself and the Death Eaters would never make it into Hogwarts. They'd wind up like all the books and apples and other things the cabinet had destroyed before. But it was a cowardly thought, like all my others. I said the spell, so the cabinet brought them in.

. . . .

Dumbledore offered me his help, as I stood there poised to kill. Facing me without a wand and knowing everything I've done this year, he still offered me an escape. But he offered too late. The mark on my arm burned and so did my eyes and I could almost hear the Dark Lord laughing. Dumbledore was months too late. Bellatrix's voice: I could hear it pounding along with my heart. _Do it, Draco._ This is your moment.

It _was_ my moment. The one that hadn't left my thoughts for over a year. My wand arm was shaking and I opened my mouth, but Dumbledore's eyes were on mine just like so many times before and I couldn't say the words. The bloody werewolf said I was too weak. I still couldn't. Bellatrix screamed at me to finish it, but those eyes were still pleading with me. I wanted to run, but Bellatrix stood right behind me. More than that, there was nowhere to run to. Escape was as far gone as Dumbledore's offer of help. There were so many words, so many voices I could hear. Bellatrix. The Dark Lord. Father. Snape. Potter. Dumbledore. I could hear them all. _Do it. A mission to prove yourself. You should be proud, Draco. Let me assist you. I know what you did, Malfoy. Please let me help you. Do it, Draco! _And then one telling me no. I lowered my wand and Snape stepped forward to finish the job I couldn't do. And I've never hated myself so much for being weak before. Too weak to either act or turn away completely. Too weak to do anything but just stand there and pray for escape.

In that last moment, all the voices got erased by one plea. One word. As Snape grabbed my shoulder and shoved me ahead of him down the stairs, all I could hear was _please._ We made our way through a castle I've known for six years, but it all felt different. The stone halls were devoid of life, of warmth, and they all echoed with that one word. It surrounded and chased us as we left the Astronomy tower behind, but the others couldn't hear it. The plea had been made to Snape, but the curse was on me. Dumbledore's plea and the Dark Lord's mark, I carry them both.

Bellatrix made sure that choas followed us when we left the castle. She made sure the school knew we were there. I didn't turn and watch until the very end—the great hall. Scenes from the past colored everything I watched. Goblets and platters burst at her feet and I could see the sorting ceremony. Her gleeful shouts filtered through the cheers of Gryffindor winning the house cup year after year. Silverware skittered across the floor while a past me performed 'Prissy Potter' for a group of Slytherins, her cackle intermingling with the memory of theirs. Then all the windows exploded inward. The hall that held so many memories filled with shattering glass. I could hear my life shattering too. Smoke rose from a thousand extinguished candles and it carried away everything that could have been.

And in the background of all of that, I could still hear _please_—a whisper in the roaring noise. Everything that was happening came together and I lost it. I couldn't help the tears, because I couldn't do what Dumbledore wanted. He wanted me to turn. He wanted me to change. He wanted me to fight. But one face of a galleon can't change sides after it's been made. I can't be what I'm not. I can't be Potter.

Potter. Somehow, he found out what had happened. And I realized I've been deluding myself for months. I could never terrify Potter with my "power." The Dark Lord himself can't.

Potter ran after us. Potter, my age, alone, outnumbered beyond hope and still there for the fight. Still there to defend. When Snape told me to go, I did. I ran. Because I couldn't face Potter. But I could hear the curses he shouted as I ran, could hear him call Snape out to fight. I hate him to the core, but he's better than I am. He's better than I could ever be. And I want him to win. Congratulations, Harry Potter, this is a loaded galleon. Given a million tries, I could never come out on top.

While the other Death Eaters disappeared, I waited for Snape at the edge of the forest. I couldn't even stand anymore; I just sank to my knees and stared. The dark shape of Hogwarts loomed over Snape and Potter's confrontation on the lawn, and over the school loomed the Dark Mark. It's a picture I know I can never forget.

I've overheard Potter say that Hogwarts is his home. I have a home, but it's in name only. I haven't truly felt "at home" anywhere for a long time. But I do know that at least part of me loves Hogwarts. As I watched it being destroyed, that part of me died knowing that I'd caused this. I never meant for it. The Dark Mark hanging in the sky over Dumbledore's broken body. I never meant for any of it.

Just as we left, I saw that Phoenix of his flying over the grounds. I wonder if the bird can understand that its owner's gone. I wonder if it was crying as it flew. Phoenix tears. Maybe if they fall to the ground of the old school, they can bring a miracle healing.

But the world doesn't work like that. Of all people, I know the world doesn't work like that.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Well, here we are at the end. I hope you've enjoyed the story, short though it is. Please review and tell me what you think!_


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